


Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Pining

by katebishoop



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”you just got your tonsils removed so I showed up with ten pints of ice cream and a love confession because I know you’re not going to be able to say anything, but you do anyways and there are tears in your eyes (not because you’re so touched) but because the pain is literally killing you but you’re trying to get to me after I dropped this bomb on you”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Pining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoldiersTonight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoldiersTonight/gifts).



“Hey, I got your mail.” Bellamy called into Clarke’s apartment, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Clarke came out of the kitchen, drying her hands off with a towel. She was wearing an apron, and Bellamy’s nose perked up at the smell of smoke. “Clarke, are you cooking?”

On the very, very long list of _Things That Clarke Griffin Is Good At_ , cooking is nowhere on it.

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke ground out. She didn’t like to be reminded that she’s inept at cooking. She always took it like a challenge, like a continuous cycle of rematches every time she failed (which was, well, everytime). “And I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”

“If you burn your apartment down, I doubt you’ll get your security deposit back.”

“Oh, just go put something on Netflix,” Clarke’s voice cracked and her hand jumped up to rub her neck, “I’m almost done.”

She went back into the kitchen, and Bellamy wandered towards the couch. As much as he feared dying in a fiery blaze, he feared the fiery blaze that was Clarke Griffin when she was angry and annoyed.

He’d been on that end before, back when they first met. He was forever glad and grateful that they had moved past that. (Specifically, he was glad that he had got his head out of his ass and stopped being a jerk to her).

And now they were friends, and had been for years. Best friends, even. He saw her more than he did Octavia, if he was being honest. They didn’t live together, but they were always at one of their two apartments.

One time they had actually each gone to each other’s places.

“Are you alright?” Clarke asked as soon as he picked up the phone, “Did something happen? Is it O?”

Bellamy was confused, “Uh, yeah? I’m alright I mean - why?”

“You haven’t come home yet, you’re usually back from work by now. I was starting to worry that you may have got into an accident or something.”

Bellamy burst out laughing and he tried really hard to calm down when he heard Clarke on the other end of the line, getting increasingly frustrated with him. “Clarke, I’m-” Bellamy could barely get the words out. He forced himself to swallow. “I’m at your place.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been for here waiting for you for an hour.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.”

And then she started laughing on the other end, that cute little laugh she has that makes her snort.

When they had told Octavia, she had smacked them both on the heads. Later, when it was just the two of them, she would demand why they didn’t just move into together, and Bellamy, being himself, promptly avoided the question.

“What do you want to watch?” Bellamy called as he turned on the television.

“Surprise me.” Clarke’s voice sounds hoarse, “but no documentaries! I want something with a _plot_.”

“Documentaries have plot!” Bellamy yelled back, but all the same he logged onto Netflix and ignored the rows of suggestions that were for Bellamy, despite it being Clarke’s account, “and hey, are you okay? You sound off.”

“I’ve got this nightmare of a sore throat,” she said, “I’m going to get it checked out on Monday.”

Bellamy nodded and stored that information for later. He finally decided on _How To Get Away With Murder_ since they had been meaning to start it for a while. He pressed pause to wait for Clarke and so it could load.

Bellamy hadn’t meant to snoop through her mail. He usually grabbed it for her on his way up since she tended to forget about it. But he doesn’t have anything really else to do right now other than wait, so. He just starts casually looking through it. There’s a few bills, a letter from their Alma mater probably asking for a donation, and a couple pieces of junk mail. But there is something though, that catches his eye: a thicker, burgundy envelope with CONGRATULATIONS printed on it. It’s from Cornish College... in _Seattle_?

Bellamy freezes. Clarke had talked about going back to school to do more art focused things. Right now she’s a sketch artist for the police department and illustrates for medical brochures on the side, but she said she wanted a more art related career. But Bellamy had never thought about the possibility that she would be leaving Baltimore. He knew Clarke would be willing to commute down to D.C. everyday, because she had done it before, but.

_Moving?_

He heard the oven door slam shut. He tossed the envelope back on the table and mixed up the mail before leaning back on the couch. Look cool, act natural, don’t freak out.

Clarke entered the living room holding two large plates. She handed one to Bellamy as she sat down.

Bellamy didn’t know what he was looking at.

“It’s _lasagna_ ,” Clarke pressed, the corner of her mouth turned down into a frown.

“I thought lasagna had _layers,_ ” Bellamy teased before tentatively took a bite. “A little burnt, but not bad, not bad. You’ve outdone yourself, Chef Griffin.”

Clarke looked at him skeptically and took a bite of her own piece, and it took Bellamy a lot of effort not to laugh at her disgruntled reaction upon tasting it, “You’re just being nice.”

“I’m serious, you did outdo yourself,” he insisted, “this is not the worst thing you have ever made. And I do consider this edible, so be proud of that.”

Clarke blushed, and cleared her throat before rubbing it again. “So, what are we watching?”

Bellamy pressed play and Clarke leaned into his side. He wanted to focus on the show, but his mind kept wandering back to that envelope. He could just ask Clarke about it, she wouldn’t be upset that he had looked or anything. But she hadn’t even told him she was considering moving, and it was, well.

Bellamy didn’t know what to do about that.

* * *

He jogged up to Octavia who was on her morning run with her dog through Patterson Park; she just gave him a sidelong glance before picking up her pace.

It was always race when they jogged together: sibling rivalry, a little friendly competition. Bellamy thought it was more of an ego boost for his sister though, since both her and her dog were faster than him.

(She had a greyhound, a former racer, so what did he expect?)

Octavia slowed and came to a stop in front of the outdoor stage that was at the bottom of the Pagoda hill. She sat on the stage’s edge while Samson paced around her, his tongue flopping around as he panted, while she waited for him to catch up.

Bellamy doubled over, resting his hands on his knees, and took a moment to catch his breath before he spoke.

“Has Clarke mentioned going back to school to you at all?”

Octavia quirked an eyebrow at him, then rolled her eyes. Yeah, whatever, of course he was talking about Clarke, she’s used to it by now.

“Yeah.” Octavia scratches Samson behind his ears, “Why?”

“Has she mentioned looking out of state at all?”

“No,” Octavia’s hand stilled. She looked surprised, though she tried not to show it, “Why?”

“She got this acceptance in the mail the other day,” Bellamy sat down next to her on the stage. He was watching these two little kids, siblings probably, playing with a kite over on the hill, “It was from this art school in Seattle.”

“Seattle,” He felt his sister’s eyes on him, “Have you tried just asking Clarke? I mean she’s given no hint of wanting to move, right?”

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck. “I just don’t get why she’d even look over there. I- she doesn’t like her neighbors that much, but she doesn’t have to go across the country to get away from them. And there’s plenty of art schools around here - there’s MICA.”

Octavia put her hand on his shoulder and leaned onto him, “You’d be a lot less stressed out if you just talked to her, you realize that right?”

“But she didn’t even mention it, so she probably doesn’t want me to know-”

“Bellamy,” Octavia pulled back to look him in the eye now, “I seriously doubt that Clarke is going to move to Seattle. She’s given no indication that she’s unhappy here - so why should she? If she wanted a change of scenery she would go to New York or something. They’re artsy there, or whatever”

“I mean, I guess-”

“I’m not done yet,” Octavia’s tone of voice reminded Bellamy of their mother’s, that tone she used to get when she was teaching them a lesson, “You should also probably just tell Clarke you’re in love with her.”

Bellamy blinked. And then again, and then a _third_ time before he said:  “What.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, we’ve already past that step, remember?” Bellamy swallowed; he did remember, that night Octavia had finally got him to admit it. It had involved a lot of alcohol and a choke hold. “You and Clarke are more domestic than Lincoln and I, and we _actually_ live together - we even have a dog! You both haven’t dated in over a year, and it’s been months since either of you got laid, _Jesus fucking Christ_. Look - Clarke and I have never explicitly talked about this, but I’d bet everything that she loves you too.”

Bellamy bit his lip, “define _explicitly_.”

Octavia got up and sighed, “Just - make a move okay? Now’s a good of time as any. I’m pretty sure she’s not moving, and that you’re being an idiot about this, but you’re an idiot about everything. So just fucking tell her already, because I’m tired of all the pining. Do something about it, or move on.”

Octavia and Samson jogged off, but Bellamy didn’t move for quite some time.

* * *

See, Bellamy Blake has been in love with Clarke Griffin since becoming friends with her.

They had started off as enemies, always disagreeing and at each other’s throats. Then they were reluctant accomplices, still disagreeing a lot, but they managed to coexist. They had an understanding.

He wasn’t expecting them to become friends. He wasn’t expecting to fall in love.

Because Bellamy had never been in love before.

He’d been in lust, and in a period of extended _like_ , but nothing he’d classify as love. For a while he assumed that he was in extended like with Clarke, but.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he fell in love with Clarke. There was a period of time that he didn’t like her, and then they became friends, and then… and then she was his person. She was the person he trusted the most, confided in ways he didn’t even confide in with his own sister. He got jealous when she went out with other people, and the length of time of his hookups got shorter and shorter until they were just one-night stands, until, as Octavia pointed out, he had stopped sleeping with anyone all together. (And apparently, according to Octavia, Clarke had too).

Bellamy was comfortably in love with Clarke; key word being _comfortably_. He was content with loving her casually, in their friendship. He would always want more, want to love her, passionately; but he was content with what they had. Why try to mess that up?

_I’d bet everything that she loves you too._

Octavia doesn’t make bets lightly.

And Clarke could be moving.

He could miss his chance.

_Do something about it, or move on._

* * *

Octavia was right about him being an idiot. It had been two days and Bellamy hadn’t done anything about it. He kept researching that university on the internet… and he even looked up apartments in the area, whether they were for Clarke, or this vague idea in his head that they were for him, that he would follow her out there, he didn’t know.

He also kept googling variations of _how to tell your best friend that you’re in love with them_. He didn’t find anything directly related to his question, but. Instead he found a BuzzFeed article called _How To Know If You’re Actually in Love With Your Best Friend_ , which did confirm that, yes, Bellamy was one-hundred percent in love with Clarke. He even found a WikiHow article called _How to Tell if Your Best Friend Loves You_ , and then he spent way too long reading that article and analyzing every interaction he had with Clarke over the past six months. It wasn’t very helpful.

If Octavia knew about any of this, she’d punch him. Again.

He hadn’t seen Clarke since he found the letter. Which was odd for them, going three days without seeing each other.

He was also pretty sure he and Clarke had some kind of, unconscious telepathy, because just as he thought about that, he got a text from her.

**Clarke :]**

_good news is that I don’t have a sore throat_

_bad news is that I have tonsilitis_

oh shit

_I’m having surgery for it friday_

what time??

_like 10am but don’t worry Bell_

_You have work, O said she could drive me_

are you sure? I can get off

_the surgery only takes twenty minutes_

_by the time O takes me home I should have come down from high_

but what if I said I want to see you high?

_you should have seen me in high school then ;)_

_but srsly bell I’ll be fine, I can make it with O and myself until you get off work_

I’ll bring ice cream

_< 3 <3 <3 <3_

_exhibit A on why you’re my favorite_

 

Bellamy stared at those last texts until his phone went to sleep.

Octavia was right, he was an idiot.

But he was an idiot with a _plan_.

* * *

When Bellamy entered Clarke’s apartment, he found her cocooned in blankets on the sofa watching _Freaks and Geeks_. She’s at scene with the funky chicken and the cheerleaders and Shia Lebeouf. It’s one of her favorites.

She paused it when she saw him, and was trying to sit up but he rushed over and motioned for her to stay on the couch.

“I got ten different flavors of ice cream since I figured you can’t have all the fun kinds,” Bellamy gestured to the bags that dangled from his arm, “I’ll get it out, just stay put, okay? We can continue _How To Get Away With Murder_ if you want, or we can just continue to watch this.”

Clarke nodded, which, really didn’t answer his question, but.

He went to the kitchen and got out two bowls. He filled one for himself with chocolate and mint, and for Clarke’s he scooped in vanilla, orange sherbert, and birthday cake.

He put the containers into her freezer and was amused that they literally took up the entire compartment.

When he went back out to the living room, he saw that Clarke did not listen to him, and she propped herself up more against the armrest. So she wasn’t exactly lying down, but not sitting up, and now Bellamy had a place to sit by her feet, a clear indication for him to sit there instead of the reclining chair, and he wasn’t about to argue with her.

He handed her bowl and she smiled brightly up at him as a way of thanks. He sat down next to her and she queued up the next episode of _How To Get Away With Murder_.

About an episode and a half later, he reached over and grabbed the remote and hit pause. Clarke looked at him from over her bowl, confused. Bellamy didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He set his bowl down, and the remote. Clarke was looking at him very worriedly now, so.

“I’m chickenshit and also an opportunist,” he blurted out, “but you already knew that.”

Clarke sat her bowl down on the table and narrowed her eyes at him.

Bellamy took a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing._

“I saw your acceptance letter for Cornish,” Bellamy’s closed his eyes now. He just needs to get through it all, get it out, before something makes him stop, “and I looked it up and the school looks great, and it’s a wonderful opportunity but- I’d never ask you to give up your dream if that was it but I just figured you should know-” He placed a hand on the pile of blankets that covered her legs. “That I’d go with you, if you’d have me.” Bellamy licked his lips.

_Now or never._

“I’m in love with you, Clarke. I’ve been in love with you for I don’t know how long and I thought I’d just be fine loving you like I do now, all comfortable and silent and content, but you could leave and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you and I missed my chance. You’re my best friend, and I love you and I’ve never been in love like this - I’ve never been in love _at all_ \- before and- Clarke. God, _Clarke_. I love the way you chew on your pencils when you’re thinking and how you always seem to have paint on you. I love that we seem to be in sync and I love the way you care, just you care _so much_ , Clarke. I love you so much and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to see you as often as I do now. You’re my favorite too; I love everything about you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I just thought you should know.” He’s opened his eyes by this point.

Clarke was frozen. Her hands clutched at the edge of the blanket. Her breaths were shallow, through her mouth. Her eyes were big and wide on him and, and they were welling up with tears.

Bellamy felt tears in his eyes, too.

But despite that he’s smiling, because the way she’s looking at him right now… “Clarke, I-”

She sat up and he’s knee jerk reaction is to lean in - but Clarke was reaching for her phone. She scrambled with the lock, her hands were shaking as she typed into it.

She looked up at Bellamy again, a blaze in her eyes and the tears now rolling down her cheeks. She pointed to her phone and then at him and then-

_Oh._

How could he forget a key element of his plan?

It’s one of the reasons he had picked tonight; there was just something reassuring that if he was wrong, Clarke couldn’t verbally reject him.

Because, well, she couldn’t talk.

Bellamy hurriedly pulled out at his phone and opened his text messages. The first couple were just gibberish, a result of her franticness. Then she got clearer.

**Clarke :]**

_my throat is literally on fire_

_you’re an asshole!!!_

_but i love you too_

_im not moving_

_i love you ijhbfjxc_

 

Bellamy dropped his phone and took Clarke’s face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers and _she loves him she loves him she loves him-_

But Clarke made a pained noise and Bellamy jerked back. “Oh fuck, shit sorry, I keep-”

Clarke nods, and the tears in her eyes, Bellamy is certain, are mostly from the pain. Bellamy leaned over and kissed her forehead, her neck, her nose, he kissed away the tears on her cheeks and he kissed her all over until she was smiling and-

 _She loves him she loves him she loves him_.

* * *

“You’re both idiots,” Octavia said after slamming back a shot. They’re at the bar now to celebrate Clarke being fully recovered from her surgery, among other things, “That’s going to be in my wedding toast to you guys, and in both of your eulogies.”

“You’re expecting to outlive us then?” Clarke asked, cocking a smile.

Bellamy couldn’t help but grin when he noticed that Clarke hadn’t objected to Octavia’s insinuation of a _wedding_. Was even thinking that moving too fast? He and Clarke hadn’t even been together for two weeks yet, but. They’d been in love for months, years already.

Octavia glared at both of them, “you’re both also disgusting cute. I’m going to go outside to wait for Lincoln; get some air, then maybe I won’t puke.”

“She is right, you know,” Clarke said and pressed her leg up against Bellamy’s. “You’re kind of an idiot.”

“Hey,” Bellamy said with mock offense, “I’m not the one who said I love you for the first time over text.”

Clarke punched him in the arm, “you told me when I couldn’t even _speak_!”

Bellamy leaned over and kissed her, because he can finally do that now without causing her pain (or, as Clarke would later inform him, put him at risk of tonsillitis too).

When they finally broke apart, Clarke just looked at him and started to laugh.

“Did you, um,” Clarke rubbed her finger against her glass, drawing little patterns in the condensation, “if you hadn’t thought I was moving, would you ever have done anything?”

She had tossed him the acceptance letter later that first night after they both had calmed down. It was just an acceptance letter for this month long summer course. Not moving, just a seminar on illustration for children’s books. She had looked at MICA, the place he’d originally thought she’d look for art school related things, but they didn’t have a program like it. She’d just be gone for July - and well, Bellamy didn’t teach in the summertime. He could use a vacation; he had never been to the west coast before.

“Probably not,” Bellamy nodded, he knew how pathetic he was, “maybe I’d just make an objection at your wedding, that also seems like great timing. I work best under stress, as you can see.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “you’re unbelievable. We could have been awesome sex for _years_.”

“You could have said something too, you know.”

“Yeah, of course, just admit your feelings to _Mr. I’ve-Never-Been-In-Love-_ ”

Bellamy cut her off with a firm press of his lips to hers. Her mouth immediately opened to his; he ran his tongue over her bottom lip and nipped at it gently. They were in sync, in this, in everything - always.

Bellamy pulled back, but kept his forehead pressed to hers, his hand still holding her cheek, “I love _you_.”

“I know,” Clarke leaned forward and gave him a peck, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


End file.
